


Best in Class

by MxMacabre (Jacque_le_Prince)



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Asian Character(s), Black Character(s), Blood and Injury, Death, Dystopia, F/F, F/M, Female Character of Color, Gen, High School, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Latino Character, M/M, Manipulation, Mystery, Nonbinary Character, POV First Person, Poisoning, Psychological Horror, References to Drugs, Survival Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-04-30 12:25:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14496936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jacque_le_Prince/pseuds/MxMacabre
Summary: What we do here is not unusual. People may say it’s cruel. People may say it’s inhumane. But this is the way it’s been for generations. It’s how we get the best out of our kids.





	1. Prologue

 

One year.

You’re given one year of high school before they ship you off to the Academies. That’s one year to prepare you for an experience that some say is just as brutal, if not more, than being sent to war. But you’re not meant to shoot down enemy soldiers or fire nukes. You’re only required to do three things: study, do your homework, and pass tests. It’s the same thing we’ve been doing since grade school, so why all the fuss?

“Hey, hey, did you ever get one last hookup before graduation?”

Barbara whispered the childish question into my ear, which immediately lit up. I suppressed a giggle as I adjusted the flat cap on my head “Shut up, it’s way too late to be worrying about that now.”

I had to wear my hair down in order to fit the cap over my head. I didn’t like the feeling of my thick, wavy hair brushing against my ears. It felt hot and itchy, which wasn’t much better than the bone-chilling frigidity of the cold silk gown and dress. I didn’t see the point in wearing my prom dress underneath my gown since no one would see it, but my mom insisted.

Barbara was smart. She wore her hair in a bun and, supposedly, was wearing flannel pajamas under her gown. Though, I doubted her parents would let her get away with that.

“I’m just saying,” she chuckled “The chance you’ll end up in the same Academy as whoever you’re crushing on is pretty slim. You should have been trying to get a date before the semester ended.”

Almost everyone did, hence why the last week of April was always called Last Minute Fuck Week. After all, there was always the chance that your significant other wouldn’t be able to pass the Academy. Then graduation night really would be the last time you got to see them.

“I think it’s better not to have to worry about your sweetheart failing and not being able to leave with them,” I said.

Barbara wagged her finger with a knowing smile “Hey, it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.”

“In other words, don’t die a virgin?”

Barbara shushed me “Geez, don’t set everyone on edge by dropping the d-bomb like that!”

I gave a half apologetic shrug. The last thing any of the graduates wanted to hear tonight were any variant of the word “die”. Truth be told, it scared me, too, but this had been going on for so many generations that such a dark ceremony was only a stressful nuisance. Kids were able to have sarcastic conversations about it just like Barbara and I. That’s how you create a cultural norm, after all, just laugh about it until it’s funny.

The chatter of the students dissipated into murmurs as we noticed the lights dimming. Finally, after what felt like years of sitting on these cold benches, the ceremony could start.

The big, clean television in the front of the room turned on and three adults stood at attention. To the left was our principal, a kind bespectacled woman with a quirky sense of humor that I loved. I remembered how she would take the time to talk to students one-on-one if she saw that they weren’t having a good day. She had endless patience, and her smile on the screen mirrored that of a proud mother.

To the right was our Dean, a good-natured family man with countless years of experience with kids. He didn’t sugarcoat things, but he wasn’t malicious. If anyone needed a life coach it would be him. I could see the glistening remains of tears on his steel eyes. I wondered if he was emotional because he would miss us or because he felt sorry for us.

In between the two adults was the prime minister, himself. I had only ever seen him briefly on TV when he was hosting other graduations. It was almost surreal seeing that pearl white face framed with dusty brown hair. He seemed ageless.

“Good evening, Faraday Clark High School!” he greeted with the voice of a talk show host “It is an absolute _treasure_ to be with you and share this experience. I know your parents are all watching at home, and just like me, I know they are very proud of you.”

I felt my cheeks heat up. This was not news to any of us, but being so thoroughly congratulated and complemented still embarrassed me. It was like having your grandma pinch your cheeks and marvel at how much you’ve grown.

“In fact, the whole country is watching this spectacular moment, the moment you start your future,” he said “Now remember what the teachers told you to do: Keep calm, relax your body, and lean back your head hits the cushion…”

And not the floor. I could recite that mantra without even having to think about it, and I really couldn’t since that’s when the packets of juice that were served earlier started to kick in.

I heard someone say “Damn...they really timed it right on point...”

The room became engulfed in a fuzziness that can only be described as what you see before you fall asleep. One by one, the graduates started to fall. Some managed to fall back against the bench. Some fell against the person next to them.

I remember my graduation hat flopping off as I slipped further away. I reached up to grab it, my dopey state rationalizing that it was a priority, but unconsciousness grabbed me first.


	2. Chapter 1

At first, I didn’t even realize that I had opened my eyes when I woke up. There was total darkness, save for the four horizontal slits of light shining on my chin and throat, My arms were pressed tight at my sides, so even if I fell asleep, I wouldn’t have fallen. I knew about the you’ll-be-knocked-out-and-wake-up-there part, but what pumped my heart was realizing that I was in a locker, which, as far as I knew, didn’t open from the inside.

“H-Hey…!” I croaked out, my groggy voice echoing within my tight confines, “There’s been some kinda mistake!”

I heard a footstep and a half before the slits of light flickered. The clicks and rattles ahead told me that someone was here to save me. In a few seconds, the door opened and I barely managed to make out the image of a man in a broad-brimmed hat before the lights stung my eyes.

“Ah, finally. You’re late, y’know,” he said, tiredly, “Not a good impression on the first day.”

My head swayed violently forward as I attempted to squeeze out of the locker.

Even though I could hardly make heads or tails or the man’s face, I could feel his impatience as he watched me flounder about and wriggle my hips free. 

Despite making no attempt to help, the man did catch me before I could fall to my face. He mumbled something about the drug not wearing off fast enough. Then I was marched out of the door, half-asleep, and placed in a line of eleven other children who were all strangers to each other.

I was at the end, next to a girl with long silky hair. Even though fine details weren’t piercing my drowsiness, the girl’s worried grimace flashed before my eyes.

“That’s everyone,” said the man holding me up.

The figure in front of us murmured something, or, at least, my ears could only make out murmuring.

Suddenly, there were twelve screams, mine being among them. I had felt two sharp needles penetrate my wrist, and in an instant, my entire arm began to light up with an indescribable tingling. All of the drowsiness had been banished from my body and I was completely refreshed.

“That’s better,” said the voice in front of us.

Blinking away the sleepy moisture from my eyes, I could see that it was a slender woman. She was blonde with two stiff braids resting on her shoulders like ropes. She was clad in all green. Everything from her vest, skirt, high heels, and broad-brimmed hat was a dangerous emerald green. I was sure that if I could catch a glimpse beneath her hat, I would see a pair of equally green eyes.

“Good morning, students,” she announced, “My name is Ms. Boucher, and I will be one of your teachers for the following years.”

It had then come to my attention that we were standing in the center of a gymnasium facing the folded bleachers. What looked like an electric chalkboard on wheels stood next to Ms. Boucher. I started to look to my right to see the other students, but I was stopped by a sharp, “Eyes up here, One. You’ll have time to look around later,” from Ms. Boucher.

I readjusted myself accordingly.

“ _What did she just call me? It sounded like “one”, but_ …” I thought, “ _Maybe she said “Juan”. Is she mistaking me for someone else?_ ”

I ceased my thoughts once I realized that I needed to pay the utmost attention.

“You’re probably wondering what that shock was that woke you up,” Ms. Boucher continued, “That was from your Grade Tracker…” she flicked her pointer at the board, which displayed what looked like a digital wristwatch, but instead of showing the time, there was an “ _A-_ ” and a slender bar graph wedged in “...which administered a small dosage of adrenaline to wake you up. Expect that to be in use when we feel that you aren’t fully awake enough for class.”

I suddenly became aware of the cold metal weighing down my right wrist. I wanted to spare a glance, but I didn’t dare risk another scolding from the teacher.

“Every minute of everyday, your grade in each class will be calculated and displayed here,” Ms. Boucher tapped the bar graph beside the letter grade as she said this, “Whenever your grade decreases, a small dosage of poison will be gradually injected.”

There were gasps, whimpers, and even shaky breathes, but nothing beyond that. No one even dared mutter a whispered curse. After all, we knew to stay on our best behavior.

I don’t know if everyone had the same thought as me, but all I could think was, “ _So the rumors were true, which means that the antidote--_ ”

“...will be administered every time your grade increases,” Ms. Boucher’s explanation lined up with my thoughts, which gave me relief, “You’re free to explore the school between classes and before lights out. Meals will be administered three times a day. Your dorms are equipped with your clothes, nightwear, and toothbrushes, but toiletries and school supplies are provided by us.”

Just then, Ms. Boucher’s mundane grin brightened. “Now, we get to the exciting part,” she said, still keeping her proper tone of voice, “As you all know, you are a very special class: The Class of Optimums.”

A wide smile stretched across my face, and I could see the other students give their own signs of thankfulness from the corner of my eye. There were some suppressed squeals, and I could even see one person hunch over in a sob, but again, we all kept our reactions to a polite minimum to stay within behavioral expectations.

To be an Optimum meant that you excelled the most in a specific subject out of all of the schools within your state. 

When the announcement was made on the news that they would be trying out this new system, parents went nuts. As if the Academies weren’t challenging enough, now the schooling before that had a healthy competition. 

The system worked like this: When you graduated from elementary school, a letter would be given to you saying which subject you should most likely pursue based on your performance. From then on, your parents would cram every bit of information in that subject into your brain before high school in hopes that by the freshman year, your grade would be the highest. Every subject was up for grabs, from geography to basketball to cooking.

“So how about we count down and introduce ourselves?”

Ms. Boucher thrust her pointer at the other end of the line and said, “Come up, young man, and give us your name and Optimum title.”

A male teacher wearing a blue hat similar to Ms. Boucher guided a boy up to the front.

The boy had tussled white hair with skin just a shade grayer. In contrast, he wore a dark blue button down shirt under a gray hoodie, and a pair of black jeans.

His gait looked a bit slouched as he walked forwards, and when he turned around, there was gray energy in his barren eyes.

“Hey,” he started, hands in his pockets, “My name is…”

He trailed off and slowly, the emptiness in his eyes filled with confusion.

Ms. Boucher gave a tight-lipped chuckle, “It seems that memory didn’t reach you all, yet,” she said, “Your name is Twelve.”

“Twelve?” the boy echoed in disbelief.

That’s when it hit me. Ms. Boucher _had_ called me “One”. There were twelve students standing in line altogether.

“ _But “One” is just a number assigned to me, not a name. My real name is…_ ”

I reached for that basic piece of knowledge, but no matter how hard I tried to remember, my brain kept filling in that gap with “One”. My name was One.

“My name is…Twelve and I’m the History Optimum,” said the boy in an experimental tone.

Ms. Boucher patted him on the back and said, “Thank you, you may return to the line.”

Up next was a strikingly tall girl. Like Twelve, her skin and hair were a matching color, except for this girl, both were brown. She had crochet braids held together by various hair ties grazing her sturdy shoulders. She also had an amazing figure accented by her blue turtleneck lace blouse with polka dots, high waisted blue jeans, and blue flats.

The girl twiddled her thumbs and kept her gaze downward. When she reached Ms. Boucher, she even seemed to cower under the blonde’s presence.

“M-My name is Eleven,” she said, her strong voice trembling, “And I’m the Track Optimum.”

Up next was an average-looking boy sporting an orange leather jacket and blue jeans. The copper tone of his skin seemed to accent the orange leather well. Otherwise, I don’t think he would have pulled it off.

“My name’s Ten, and I’m the Physics Optimum,” he greeted with a gentlemanly nod.

After him, a boy clad in a green and white striped shirt and mint green pants passed. The latter accidentally grazed by Ten and tripped, his sandy curls bouncing from the impact to the floor.

The sudden action was startling in the stiff atmosphere, but the boy lifted his head up and said “I’m okay!” with a smile before any of us could even ask if he needed help.

Ms. Boucher frowned, but said nothing.

“Hi everyone, I’m Nine, the Health Optimum! Nice to meet you a--oh, okay...”

Ms. Boucher goaded him back towards the line, probably assuming that he was going to go into a full-on introductory speech when it wasn’t necessary, but I don’t think that was his intention.

Yet another boy came forward, and I was beginning to wonder if Eleven, the girl beside me who I assumed to be Two, and I were the only girls.

This boy was Eastern Asian with black hair tied in a ponytail and a fringe over his right eye. He held a serious look about him, complemented by his mature outfit of a brown sweater with a black polo underneath, blue jeans, black shoes.

“I am Eight, the Woodshop Optimum,” he said in an equally serious tone.

Ms. Boucher seemed to admire that.

Up next strolled another guy, which affirmed my earlier suspicion. He was chubby in build with a healthy smile on his face and a short afro crowning his head. He also sported a simple gold sweater and deep indigo jeans. When he spoke, there was a vague accent that made me think of the pacific islands.

“I’m Seven, the English Optimum,” he said, still retaining his smile.

When he walked back in line, I was almost sure that a female version of him took his place.

The girl who walked past him was also chubby in build with the same fair brown skin. However, a second look revealed that she had long black hair in a loose side ponytail, a grey short-sleeved shirt, ripped jeans with one red pants leg and one black pants leg, and black high-heeled sandals.

Turning around revealed that she also wore black lipstick.

“My name is Six,” she said with a similar accent, “I’m the the Literature Optimum.”

I was so busy wondering what the chances were that two relatives could have been enrolled in the same Academy, that I didn’t notice the slender boy that took Six’s place.

Like Eleven, he seemed soft-spoken, but not nervous like her. His eyes were concealed behind a loose afro, and he wore a black long-sleeved button down shirt, deep green skinny jeans, and black loafers.

“My name is Five, and I am the Art Optimum,” he said in a dignified voice.

As if to accentuate his height and slender build, a petite girl strode up to his place. Like Eight, she looked to be Eastern Asian, but she looked very young with her dyed lilac hair in two messy buns, peach-colored sweater with oversized sleeves, faded lilac overalls, and peach-colored ankle boots.

“My name is Four, and I’m the Computer Science Optimum,” she proudly declared with her concealed hands on her hips.

After her was another tall guy. He was much darker than all of us in skin tone, with pompadour dreads, and the beginnings of facial hair. He also wore a mauve T-shirt, faded blue jeans, a single spade-shaped earring, and mauve sneakers.

He gave a smooth wave. “What’s up, y’all? I’m Three and my Optimum...” he lifted a finger to his lips, “Is a secret.”

Immediately, my nerves clenched at the idea of what Ms. Boucher’s reaction might be to this apparent act of defiance, but to my surprise, the teacher’s response was a nod.

“That is correct,” she said, “Anyone who figures it out by graduation earns a special bonus!”

I expected them to elaborate further on it, but Three went right back into line as the girl beside me took his place. Even though this idea of a mystery Optimum just sounded like an extra side task for entertainment’s sake, it felt odd knowing that, technically, this student shared a secret with the teachers. Yet, I didn’t pick up any suspicious vibes from him.

“My name is Two.” The girl’s voice slipped me out of my brief thought process.

Out of everyone here, she definitely looked the most fancily dressed. She wore a pink silk dress with spaghetti straps and sheer sleeves, a silver necklace, pink high heels, and silver heart earrings. There was a third silver glint in her mouth revealing braces.

“The Foreign Language Optimum,” she completed with pride in her presence.

Finally, it was down to me.

I walked up to the front, seeing my ankle boots poke out of the yellow and green camouflage pants I was wearing. I briefly adjusted the green straps of my yellow off-shoulder top in preparation for my introduction.

“I’m One,” I said, “I’m the Math Optimum.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I basically tried to embellish two great author sins: information dumps and repetitive one-by-one character introduction.  
> Sorry, but I had to break those two rules in order to keep consistent with the structure of this world.


End file.
